


The Girl with the Sugar Pills

by Return009



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Assassin AU, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:08:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23989393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Return009/pseuds/Return009
Summary: Andy's next assignment requires her to walk in four inch heels and don a dress. If only there was an easier way to kill the Editor-In-Chief of Runway.
Relationships: Miranda Priestly/Andrea Sachs
Comments: 10
Kudos: 64





	The Girl with the Sugar Pills

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: None of the characters in the fic belong to me (Not even the very cute Patricia). They all belong to Fox and Lauren Weisberger. 
> 
> Thank you to my wonderful girlfriend who beta-ed my work and provided good ideas and passion fruit tea to keep me going.

_Miranda Priestly. 52 years old. Divorced. Editor in Chief of some fashion magazine._

My, Max was particularly kind about their next target, with words like _brilliant_ and _visionary_ jumping out of every single page like some kind of fluff piece that a mid-size publication would send to the print. Andy continued to flip through the woman’s file until she found the section about irate ex-employees and smirked. It seemed the long list of assistants fired under the woman’s twenty-year tenure at… Runway should inspire another word that Max failed to include in his report: difficult.

Andy pressed a key on the desk phone and listened for the dial tone. After about four rings, the person on the other end answered with a drawn-out sigh.

_“I must say that you’re getting somewhat predictable, Andy. How about you try calling me at a time not in the middle of the night to discuss your next target.”_

“Now where’s the fun in that?” The pocketknife twirled in her hand effortlessly as she spoke to him through the speaker. The truth was that she learned how to survive on four hours of sleep a night after a grueling assignment in Mexico three years ago. As it turns out, old habits do have a tendency of dying hard.

_“Yeah, yeah. It’s not that easy this time around. We’re not talking about something as simple as a sniper or a small dose of Polonium-210 in her coffee.”_

“Don’t tell me that this is another Hernandez situation.” God, she hated that assignment in Mexico. Just the idea of another one like that made her want to jump off a balcony. And Andy had jumped off multiple balconies to know that she wasn’t a fan of it. Still, she’d risk another broken bone or two before taking another assignment like Mexico again.

_“No. No. Nothing like Mexico. Although it might take as much time as Mexico.”_

Hm.

“If not Mexico, then why can’t I take her down with a clean shot?”

Sure, this woman was Editor-in-Chief of a fashion magazine, but Andy had taken on more high-profile assignments in the past that took only a week to complete. And that had only been because she needed a few days to scope out the best spot.

_“Did you even read my report, Andy?”_

“Yes. Enough to know that you’d line up to be her personal assistant if you were ever to lose your day job as my handler. That was some saccharine stuff, Max. Don’t tell me that you have a crush on my target.”

Max cleared his throat over the line. Ah. So, she was on to something.

_“My ex-wife used to read Runway and kiss the ground Miranda Priestly walked on. I guess some of those loony ideas rubbed off on me after so many years of listening to her talk about the woman.”_

Right. There was something in the background check Andy pulled on him about an ex-wife who left him for a man she met on vacation in Italy.

“Alright, so what’s so special about Miranda Priestly?”

_“God, you need to pick up a magazine once in a while, lady. Miranda Priestly is the Editor-in-Chief of Runway - the top fashion magazine in the whole world. The woman’s influence extends beyond the fashion industry. Think Michael Bloomberg but more fashionable.”_

“Still not telling me what the grand plan is, Max.”

_“You can’t assassinate a high-profile person like Miranda Priestly without raising alarms all around the world. The customer doesn’t want an international incident that will come back to bite them in the ass.”_

His remark made Andy snort. “I don’t leave a trail.”

_“It’s not about you leaving a trail. It’s about the global interest that would ensue if her death looked anything but natural.”_

“So, what exactly does the customer want me to do? Jump out of a dark alleyway and scare her to death?”

_“Close. It turns out that our fashion editor has a heart condition that requires daily medication. You need to get close enough to her to switch out her medicine with some sugar pills. After a while…”_

“How do you expect me to get close to her?”

_“Her second assistant’s recently been fired and I’ve already submitted your resume to be considered. Think you can pull off sounding like a graduate with a degree in journalism from Northwestern?”_

\--  
Andy shifted in her seat. What was it about this bare, minimalist place with pictures of rail-thin models hanging on the walls that attracted young women to apply? She glanced over at the other four applicants waiting to be called on. The blonde one had been glued to the camera on her phone while the girl next to her fluffed her hair an unhealthy number of times. The remaining two had gravitated toward one another to commiserate on how awful today’s humidity was for their hair. To think it only took her eight minutes to hop in the shower and get dressed this morning. She chuckled softly to herself, not wanting to draw the kind of attention that would require her to be social. Falling into some kind of camaraderie with the people who could throw a wrench in her assignment was definitely not part of the plan.

_“How difficult is it to get a no foam, skim latte with an extra shot wrong? She orders it every single day, you idiot!”_

The voice was traveling down the hall in their direction and getting louder by the second. Andy picked up a magazine from the table next to her and opened it to somewhere in the middle. No one would bat at an eye at the girl thoroughly engrossed in this year’s summer catalog. It was Runway, for God’s sake. She held the magazine closer to her face and cast her gaze to the window looking out into the hallway.

_“I don’t care that they’re a trainee! It’ll be your head if she’s unhappy with her coffee this morning!”_

Female. Early to late twenties by the inflection of the voice and sheer bossiness. It was the typical diva attitude one would find working for a fashion magazine. Andy relaxed her grip on the magazine and lowered it down from her face.

“Idiot! She can end you with a phone call.”

The woman appeared in front of the window as she crossed, looking seconds away from swallowing her phone whole. The endless threats over a subpar cup of coffee for a particular She pointed to the one remaining assistant to Miranda Priestly. Like her pictures, Emily Charlton was pretty enough in that overly processed way that the unnatural red hair and cat eyes makeup allowed her to be. At least she had the English accent working for her. Based on Max’s report, she was the human shield between her and the Editor-in-Chief.

Some shuffling and a door opening and closing a few feet down the hall told Andy that the coffee had been successfully delivered to Miranda’s office. It wouldn’t surprise her if the task was passed down to her once she was hired. Fetching coffee sounded like something a second assistant had to do.

_“Gird your loins!”_

She had worked enough assignments to know when something big was about to happen or when someone important was about to arrive. The tension in the air would shift, like how it was now. As if on cue, a woman ran past with a makeup brush in one hand and a pair of heels in the other. No doubt she had been either barefoot or wearing shoes that didn’t murder her feet. Within a span of thirty second, at least eight other people ran about in the same headless chicken manner that made her feel sorry them. Her job wasn’t glamorous, per se, but at least it was fun. These people looked perpetually frightened, and it was only eight. Plus, there wasn’t enough money in the world that could make her pretend that donning a pair of heels for eight hours straight was a privilege. She looked down at the red Louboutins on her feet and wondered if her pinky toe would fall off by the end of the day.

“Oh…god… Miranda’s coming.” The girl with the thoroughly fluffed-out hair volunteered the information as it dawned on her. At least she was brighter than she looked. If Andy hadn’t been vying for the job herself, she’d be pulling for her just because she showed a little bit more brains than the other three.

“How’s my hair?”

“How’s my makeup?”

“Oh god, is there spinach between my teeth?”

The sheer amount of panic that overtook the room would have been amusing under other circumstances. But right now, it just served as a source of distraction for her. Luckily, Andy was able to tune them out in time to hear another set of footsteps coming down the hall. Measured and purposeful. She leaned back in her chair and watched the window closely, a stark contrast to the stiffened spines and nervous stares of the other girls.

Then, she appeared. All five foot six of her in four-inch heels. Andy could see why Miranda Priestly frightened all her employees. There was a strong aura around her that screamed boss-lady-who-shall-not-be-fucked-with, and even Andy could feel it from where she was sitting at least ten feet away from the woman. Up close, she was probably even more intimidating, especially with that proud chin and intense glare. The silver coif with some light curls at the bangs, whether natural or a fashion statement, was the most tasteful aesthetic Andy had ever seen.

Miranda hadn’t even bothered to look in their direction as she crossed despite all pairs of eyes turning to look at her. Emily met her halfway with a clipboard in her hand, apologizing profusely for not meeting her right when she stepped off the elevator.

“Tales of your incompetence do not interest me,” she dismissed, and Emily had the wherewithal to stop explaining and instead moved on to briefing Miranda on her day’s agenda, though she still looked completely mortified.

“I’ll retrieve the belts from Ralph Lauren and bring them to you by ten thirty.”

“Nine,” Miranda corrected. Emily’s eyes rounded like a deer caught in the headlights. Her feet stopped moving, but Andy doubted she realized it. Miranda’s annoyance was palpable from where Andy sat as she turned around and quirked an eyebrow at her frozen assistant. “Is that too difficult for you? Am I interrupting something important on your schedule while you are supposed to be working for me?”

“I… it’s just that I have to interview some candidates for the second assistant position.”

Ah, so Miranda Priestly was notorious for firing people and her assistant was supposed to pick up the pieces in silence.

“Well, send them my way while you go fetch me the belts.”

“I….”

“That’s all.” She didn’t wait for Emily to respond before walking off in the direction of her office.

Emily turned her death stare to the people in the room. The blonde next to her fidgeted in her seat when Emily looked her over with a bored expression.

“You.” She pointed at Andy and turned back around. Guess that meant she was first. Andy got up from her chair and followed behind the woman.

“Tell me you have a copy of your resume. I don’t have time to go digging for your name in my mailbox.” The exasperation cut through like Andy was the sole reason for her morning scolding. She hadn’t bothered to match Emily’s steps, purposely falling behind for the opportunity to assess the space outside Miranda’s office. There were two desks, one seemingly occupied with a random scattering of items and Miranda’s very expensive looking jacket from earlier haphazardly thrown on top. The other was empty and would most likely be occupied by Andy once she secured this position. In the corner was a small kitchen one might find in a mid-range hotel suite. It was doubtful that anyone other than Miranda was allowed to use it.

“Will you hurry it up?! I’ve got some belts to retrieve, and you will not be the reason why Miranda publicly humiliates me a second time today.” There was a slight growl in her voice when she turned around and rolled her eyes at Andy. Before she could respond, Emily picked up Miranda’s jacket from her desk and walked over to the coat closet. She looked up at the ceiling like she was praying to some higher deity despite there being at least five floors above theirs. “Please let the next assistant be at least half as competent as I am.”

Antagonizing Emily Charlton would probably hurt her cause more than help it despite how good the rebuke on the tip of her tongue sounded right now. For that reason alone, she channeled those two semesters of acting classes she took and plastered on her biggest and brightest smile for the woman. “Of course I brought a copy with me.”

Emily narrowed her eyes suspiciously at Andy, but her severe features soon relaxed when Andy held her stare with those innocent brown eyes of hers. Yeah, those acting classes paid off.

_“By all means, move at a glacial pace. You know how that thrills me.”_

“She’s in there. So go on in.” Emily jutted her chin and left Andy there without even an introduction. Of course. She didn’t think she would win over Emily with a smile on the first day, especially not after that morning she just had. With a quick run of her hands down the front of her blouse to catch some of the wrinkles from sitting down earlier, Andy knew she looked the part. Now came the challenging part - impressing Miranda Priestly.

She made it four steps into the room before Miranda spoke up.

“Close the door.”

Andy’s hand instantly went to her waistband at the chilly tone reminiscent of her one too many close calls on assignments. Her fingers twitched for the handgun that she left at home. It was a force of habit more than anything else. Quickly, she appraised the room. That was the first thing they taught her in training - know your surroundings. Nothing struck her as out of the ordinary, save for the exorbitantly priced furniture. But that was to be expected for a place like this.

Then her eyes locked on the infamous Editor-in-Chief sitting at her desk. The silver head of hair was definitely her most prominent attribute. It was always the first thing Andy noticed about the woman - in the pictures from her file, earlier this morning, and then right now. It was not a terrible look, she admitted to herself. Her eyes traveled lower. A pair of gold-rimmed glasses that she hadn’t arrived with earlier sat perfectly on her face. Reading glasses or sight seeing glasses? She would learn these small details about Miranda soon. Her gaze fell to the woman’s clothes. God, that was the most put-together outfit Andy had ever seen in her life, like someone photo-shopped it on her before she stepped out of her home that morning. Miranda Priestly didn’t look like some dangerous criminal. No, she looked like what Andy would envision a glamorous Editor-in-Chief of a fashion magazine would look like. Relieved, Andy relaxed her fingers slightly.

“Are you deaf?”

The reproach hadn’t made Andy flinch like it would have with her first assistant. But it pissed her off a little when she noticed that Miranda hadn’t bothered to raise her eyes from whatever paper she only seemed mildly interested in reading to regard her. Bitch.

“Are you deaf or have you suffered some kind of stroke standing there? I said to close the door.” The insult fell out of her mouth without missing a beat like it was habit.

Andy reached blindly behind her for a door handle and pushed. The muscle in her jaw clenched. She cleared her throat after a few seconds, still trying to toe the line between polite and passive.

“Where did you go to school? How many fashion magazines do you have a subscription to? Do you know what an Hermes scarf is? And finally, whose name did you put down as a reference on your resume that got you this interview?” Miranda rattled off a list of questions while flipping through the pages of her paper without pause. Her voice remained low and unaffected like she was already bored with the interview.

Was this how things were going to be moving forward? Who the hell did Miranda Priestly think she was talking to? Siri? Andy took a deep breath and tried to answer the woman’s questions in sequential order despite her level of annoyance nearly bubbling over. “I got my degree from Northwestern. As far as the number of subscriptions go, I have two. Runway and Vogue.”

Andy smirked when she noticed the way Miranda’s lips pursed at the mention of Vogue. She was hedging a bet that name dropping a rival magazine proved that she wasn’t just an ass kisser. “Yes to the Hermes scarf and no to the notable reference. I got here all out of merit.”

Silence.

“Hm.” After what felt like a solid five seconds, Miranda finally raised her head from that stupid paper to look at Andy over her glasses. Her brows drew together momentarily when her gaze connected with Andy’s form.

“There are at least a dozen girls like you within a mile radius of Elias-Clark asking me to hire them.”

“Yes, but I’m the one at this interview.”

“Why do you want to work for Runway?” Miranda asked, clearly choosing to ignore Andy’s comment.

“I like fashion.”

“Really.” Miranda went back to her paper. “Girls like you put everything I do here at risk. You think fashion means going out and buying expensive name-brand clothes that you can gloat to your friends about. I can tell you right now that those red Louboutins clash horribly with your outfit. Try some beige Jimmy Choos the next time you put on that outfit and then come talk to me about fashion, dear.”

Miranda’s insult was spectacularly offhanded, and Andy suspected that was the effect the woman intended all her insults to be. Yeah, that Ice Queen moniker wasn’t given out to just anyone. Still, Andy had to respect the woman’s commitment to her job. Her assessment of the intention behind Andy’s outfit was spot on. Max had handed her a credit card to buy “expensive things” in the name of fashion, so she strode down Fifth Avenue and blindly purchased items with a price tag that would make her mother blush.

“Why would I do that when someone else showed up to work today in a pair of beige Jimmy Choos? I’d rather clash with my outfit than with the Editor-in-Chief.”

Setting her paper down, Miranda looked up at Andy with renewed interest. Well, that might have been an overstatement. She looked at Andy like she was more than someone asking if she needed a refill on her water.

“You have a quick tongue. I suspect you think I might find that impressive, but you’re sorely mistaken. Your gaudy fashion sense and overconfidence do not interest me.”

“Well, I’m more than that. I know for a fact that you like Starbucks coffee.”

“Congratulations. What gave my secret away? Was it the Starbucks cup sitting on my desk or the fact that you can find a Starbucks at every corner in New York City?” Her voice dripped with the kind of heavy sarcasm that Andy only reserved for someone really stupid. So far, Miranda Priestly had demonstrated that she was only capable of two moods - bored and exasperated. Andy refrained from rolling her eyes at the woman. Did she ever give someone the benefit of the doubt before lowering them down to insufferable idiot status?

“I wasn’t done. Your drink of choice is a no foam, skim latte.”

The second Miranda leaned back in her chair and stared at Andy with a look that meant ‘continue,’ she knew that she was on to something.

Feeling bold, she started again. “You have twins. Preteens. Your shoe size is a seven and a half. Your assistant… hasn’t had more than six hours of sleep this whole week, but she still shows up to work because no one says no to you. Plus, she worships the ground you walk on. It seems that everyone in this building does.”

To say that Miranda Priestly was impressed that Andy could rattle off a laundry list of things about her would have been overly optimistic. But there was something about the way she looked at Andy that made Andy believe that she was at least still being considered. That, and the fact that security hadn’t been called to escort her out yet. She had her keen observation skills and a little stroke of luck to thank for that. Maybe getting on Emily’s good side wasn’t too bad of an idea.

“Look. I know that I’m probably not that exceptional but--”

“I’m glad that you’re at least self-aware,” Miranda supplied.

What a… Andy clenched her teeth, causing Miranda to raise a curious eyebrow. The ridiculous part about this was that Andy was sure Miranda was serious. To think that she had the gall to look at her like she was an idiot for being offended. She swallowed the bloody murder back down her throat and continued.

“But I’m smart, and I have an observant eye, which I think would be in good use in this business.”

She waited to see if Miranda would budge, but all she did was look down at her paper again. It was surprisingly disappointing to be rejected this way, and by the Ice Queen herself. If it had been anyone else, Andy would have tried to charm her way into the job. But one thing she learned from this short interview was that Miranda Priestly could not be charmed. She started to back out the room. Today’s minor setback didn’t mean a total defeat for their cause. It just meant that they had to go back to the drawing board.

“With an extra shot.” Miranda called out to Andy’s retreating form, surprising her.

“What?”

“No foam, skim latte with an extra shot. Make sure it’s on my desk and piping hot by eight tomorrow morning. That’s all.”


End file.
